She Worries
by reader304
Summary: Skye erased the team's identities, but she couldn't erase their families. Someone had to call Fitz's mother. Someone had to get her to the Playground. Somehow, she had to deal with her son's condition.
1. Chapter 1

Sharon glanced at her phone for the tenth time in a minute. She sighed when it failed to say anything new. Glancing around the room, she tried to interest herself in something—anything—that would get her mind off worrying.

_C'mon, baby, call Mama, _she prayed for the millionth time that week. Since hearing about the battle over Washington, she had emailed, texted, and left dozens of messages for her son, but there had been no word.

That was a week ago. On day three, she'd started calling the consulate, trying to find out if he'd been killed, or arrested, or located. By day five, she'd been too frantic to even go to work. Seven days with no word. That couldn't possibly be a good sign.

_Maybe he's trying to protect you,_ she tried to reason with herself. _If he's technically a fugitive, maybe he can't risk it. Or maybe in all the confusion, he just forgot._ But that didn't sound like her boy. He'd always found a way to call home, even when he was out on "assignments" that he couldn't talk about, in places he wouldn't identify. Even if it was only to say, "Hi Mum, I'm all right, hugs and kisses, bye." _The only way he wouldn't call is if he's—no!_

Another sigh, and a tiny groan. Sharon had been through these exact same thoughts a thousand times. She could identify the obsession, and had tried and tried to break the cycle, but no amount of applied psychology could truly stop a mother from worrying about her son. _Physician, heal thyself._ The thought made her smile for a moment. Fifteen years working as a therapist and she still couldn't ease her own anxiety.

Pressing her hands against the table, she pushed herself to her feet. She padded to the kitchen and started the kettle for some tea. She paused while the water heated to enjoy the breeze from the open window. It was only April, but a pleasant day. Maybe a nice walk, or a jog, could give her brain a break. No doubt a few flowers were blooming in the garden already. Or she could head to the market and do the shopping. Maybe cooking a nice meal would help. Or Julia across the street might enjoy company. The two ladies had commiserated before about having sons far away—Julia's Martin was in the Foreign Service—and it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Of course going out would mean changing out of this dressing gown, which would mean doing the washing.

She jumped out of her skin when the phone finally rang.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sharon?" The voice was distant, soft, but recognizable.

"Jemma? Oh thank God. Where are you two? Are you all right? Why didn't you call sooner?"

On the other side of the world, Jemma Simmons took a deep breath and replied, "We're . . . we're safe, Sharon. I can't tell you where. So much has happened in the last few days . . ."

Still in her kitchen, Sharon turned the kettle off. "I understand. Maybe it's best if I don't know where you are. But I'm so relieved to hear that you're safe. Can I talk to Leo?"

The pause on the other end of the line aroused her fears before Jemma even spoke, and the obvious crack in her voice confirmed them. "Oh, Sharon, he's . . . well . . . there's been an accident."

The world didn't exist.

Everything fell away with a sickening whirl, everything but her fear, her worst fear realized. Her baby, her son, hurt, dying, gone!

It must have been at least a minute before Jemma's voice broke through her panic. Sharon found she was lying on the kitchen floor, still somehow clutching the phone to her ear. "Sharon? Sharon?! Please answer me!" she could hear the frantic younger woman saying, but she couldn't think how to answer.

"A—accident? What happened?" she said at last.

Jemma hesitated. "We—we were attacked, by Hydra. Fitz and I got thrown from a plane and almost drowned."

None of that matters. "Just . . . please tell me . . . oh God . . . is he . . . ?"

"He's alive." To a mother's ears, those were the most blessed words in the entire language. "But, he's seriously ill, Sharon." Jemma choked back a sob and managed to continue in a whisper, "He's in a coma."

Sharon swore. "I'm coming on the next plane. Tell me where you are."

"Sharon, please try to understand. I can't tell you where we are. We're in hiding."

"Jemma, you just told me my son was seriously ill. He could be dying. Please, you have to tell me where you are, you have to let me come care for him. For God's sake, he's all I have!" That came out a smidge more like begging than Sharon had hoped for, but who the hell cared. If it got her to her Leo's bedside, she'd get down on her knees.

There was a choked sob on the other end of the phone, then muffled voices, then the sound of a phone being passed from one person to another.

"Mrs. Fitz?" A man's voice, unfamiliar. "Mrs. Fitz, are you there? This is—I'm your son's, uh, work supervisor."

"I don't care if you're Captain America. Please, just tell me where my son is." A long pause, and Sharon lost her patience completely. "For God's sake, have mercy! He's mine, and he's gone on so many adventures but he's never left me alone when I needed him and I HAVE TO BE WITH HIM NOW!"

"Mrs. Fitz! Mrs. Fitz! Listen to me," the voice said with a tone of great urgency, "Can you get away from work for a few weeks if you have a family emergency?"

Sharon had to think about that for a minute. _There was that holiday we took last winter, and Sarah's wedding last month…_ "I have about three weeks of paid time off saved up. I might get more if I say my son is ill."

"Then here's what you're going to do. Your friends all think Fitz—I mean, Leo—is a scientist who works in America, right?" Sharon agreed. "All right. When I hang up the phone, you're going to call your boss, your close friends, whoever needs to hear it, and tell them that your son was hit by a car while vacationing in San Diego, California. You've got to go to him right away, and you aren't sure when you'll return, but his employers have decided to pay for your ticket because of the circumstances and one of his coworkers' mothers is going to put you up at her house so you won't be alone. Are you with me so far?"

Sharon realized she was crying, and tried to pull herself together enough to answer clearly. _He's on your side, he's going to help you._ "I think I see where you're going with this."

"Good," the voice continued. "Now, in about 10 minutes you're going to receive a secure email from Leo's business, containing the airline ticket and the hostess' contact information. When you get to San Diego, there will be a car and driver waiting for you. The driver will take you to your son. Pack clothes for warm weather, you're going someplace very hot. Do you understand me?"

"Thank you so very much, Mr… Mr. Whoever-you-are. I can't tell you what this means to me," Sharon managed, as she dabbed at her face with a hanky.

"You can tell me in person tomorrow. I'll see you when you get here."


	3. Chapter 3

_Greetings, readers, and thank you for your interest in my humble story! Fair warning: this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic, but I do have an ending in mind, and I'm fairly well into the middle, so eventually the beginning should meet up with the end. I welcome constructive comments. Thank you for reading! :-)_

* * *

"Jemma says you speak French?" Agent Triplett asked once Sharon was settled into the passenger seat of the nondescript black car he had driven from the Playground.

"I studied it in school, but I might be a little rusty," Sharon admitted. The agent nodded and reached into the glove box, withdrawing a pair of sunglasses, a scarf, a gold ring, and a passport marked _République Française._

"All right. Put on these glasses and tie the scarf like a lady who doesn't want her hair to get messed up in the wind. This is a wedding ring. Here's your passport. Your name is Julie Zuber. I work for a company that your very rich husband invests in, and you're completely bored with California so I'm taking you for a tour of Tijuana. The customs officials speak Spanish and English, but you don't, so I'll translate for you, and you'll answer in broken English with a thick accent if you don't know the French. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded and answered, "_Oui, je comprends_." Triplett had to hand it to this lady: she sure was a trouper. The collapse of everything her son worked for, a terrifying phone call, frantic rescheduling, 10 hours in an airplane, and she didn't even blink when she was handed her second cover story of the week. _Must be where Fitz gets his ability to solve problems on the fly, _he reflected as he started the car and drove towards the airport exit.

"My name is Antoine Triplett, by the way."

That elicited a smile. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Julie Zuber, but when I'm at home I'm Sharon Fitz. I take it you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I do, whatever that means these days. Also, can we switch to French? It will help us sell our story," he said.

Sharon continued, "D'où êtes-vous?"

The pair continued to make small talk in French while they drove to the border crossing. Thankfully the line wasn't too long. The border guard only asked a few questions—name, place of birth, purpose of visit. Once they crossed, Trip sought out back roads, some hardly more than tracks, the kinds of paths that lacked traffic and, more importantly, police. The route they took was circuitous, but Trip had done it a few times for supply runs and to bring S.H.I.E.L.D. loyalists to the base, so he knew it well.

"You can sleep a bit if you want, Mrs. Fitz," he offered, "It's a few hours to the base."

"First of all, it's Sharon. Mrs. Fitz is my mother," she corrected, "and I'm not sure I'd be able to sleep. I got some rest on the plane, but between the jetlag and fretting about Leo, I'm not sure I quite know what to do." The huge yawn she let out soon after betrayed that sentiment. "Have you seen my son? How is he?"

Trip debated how to answer. "I'm not a doctor, Sharon. And there's no denying that he's in a coma. But Jemma tells me there's several reasons to be hopeful. She'll be able to explain it all better than I can."

_What does that mean?_ Sharon wondered. _I should do some research, read the science on comas. Maybe Triplett has a smartphone. I'll just shut my eyes a moment and then find out…_

When Trip snuck a glance at her after 20 minutes of silence, she was sound asleep. He smiled to himself and kept driving.


	4. Chapter 4

Trip woke Sharon shortly before they reached the Playground. She was out of the car as soon as it stopped, but halted two feet away looking for some hint as to which direction would lead to her son. Trip grabbed her suitcase out of the trunk before leading her towards the main door.

Director Coulson was waiting for them in the foyer. "Sharon Fitz, I presume?" he said as he held out his hand in greeting. "I'm Phil Coulson, acting director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Sharon took his hand but her eyes were over his shoulder, searching for any sign of Jemma. Trying not to forget her manners she said, "Thank you for getting me here, Director, now please let me see my son."

"Of course. Right this way."

"I'll drop your suitcase in the guest quarters, Sharon," Trip called after the pair, and Sharon managed an absentminded "thanks" before hurrying away.

Coulson led her through a twisting maze of corridors, past far too many false windows and doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY for Sharon's taste. Finally they passed through double doors into a corridor of white tile where Sharon recognized the faint scent of antiseptic. Coulson mumbled something about the facilities being more extensive than their surroundings suggested, while guiding her to a door on the right.

When Phil opened it, she saw what no mother ever wants to see.

Leo was lying in the bed, a sheet half-heartedly tucked over him, with an IV in his arm and tubes running out of his nose, his mouth, and from various places under the sheet. He looked small, shrunken, as if he was already losing muscle tone from inactivity. But the worst part, she thought, was how absolutely, utterly, completely _still_ he was. Her son had never laid that quietly in his life, neither waking nor sleeping.

With tears in her eyes, she forced herself to walk towards him, to take his hand in hers, to bend and kiss his forehead. "Oh, Leo, baby . . . can you hear me? It's me, it's your mother," she murmured.

"Sharon . . ." Jemma's tearful voice broke in. "Sharon, I am so, so sorry."

Sharon walked around the bed and enfolded the younger woman in a fierce hug. "You poor thing, are you all right?"

Jemma nodded, blinking back tears. "Leo saved my life, Sharon."

The mother took a seat and reached out for his hand. She looked at him, not at Jemma, when she asked, "What happened?"

Jemma sat next to her and struggled to keep the sobs out of her voice as she explained. "We lost the BUS—that's the plane where we were stationed—in the initial Hydra takeover. Leo and I tracked it down but got captured before we could call for backup. One of the Hydra moles was . . . he _had_ been a member of our team. Leo tried to reason with him, but he locked us in a medical pod and threw us out of the plane in the middle of the ocean."

She burst into tears, then, and couldn't speak. Sharon handed her a handkerchief and made shh-ing noises, but never let go of Leo's hand. _It's cold, why so cold?_

"Did the pod float?" she asked in what she hoped was an encouraging tone.

Jemma didn't lift her eyes, but she shook her head. "No. We were trapped underwater for hours." She took a deep breath. "Leo was magnificent, Sharon. He jury-rigged an emergency beacon, and we found a way to blow the window out of the pod. But the only way out was to swim for the surface, and we knew we'd only be able to hold our breath at that pressure level if we forced some oxygen into our lungs, and there was only one puff left in the oxygen tank so . . ." Another sob, more attempts to stop crying, then a desperate cry: "He made me take it!"

Sharon's eyes snapped to Jemma's face. "What? Why?" she cried, fresh tears running down her cheeks. _You know why. But my son . . . oh, dear, why didn't you fight harder for yourself?_

"Because . . . he insisted that I'm a better swimmer," Jemma whispered. "And I am. Especially since he has a broken arm. I took the air, and I dragged him to the surface with me, and we were rescued. But he wasn't breathing for at least two, probably three minutes. He's been unconscious ever since."

When Jemma summoned the courage to look at Fitz's mother again, the middle-aged woman was staring into the distance, gripping her child's hand so tightly that both of their knuckles were turning white. "How long?" she asked.

Jemma swallowed the lump in her throat. "Almost three days."

Sharon had counseled plenty of family members through similar situations. She knew what kinds of questions would be useless. But she couldn't help asking the most unanswerable one of them all: "Is he going to be all right?"

Jemma would have cut off her left foot, then and there, if she could have said "yes."

Instead, she had to settle for vagueness and what she couldn't help but think of as "doctor talk."

"It's very difficult to predict the outcome of a case like this. His brain scans showed some damage, but patients have been known to make excellent progress even when their scans seemed catastrophic. He's not brain dead. We'll have to wait for him to wake up before we can assess whether there's been any loss of motor coordination, or memory impairment, or speech impediments. But we've got access to all kinds of resources. S.H.I.E.L.D. still has loyalists. We have a whole medical team here, we even found a neuropsychologist to come work with us, the doctors have been reading S.H.I.E.L.D. research for hints about experimental therapies, we're trying all kinds of things to bring him back to us, I promise you that, Sharon. I won't ever give up."

Sharon leaned towards Jemma and took the younger woman's hands. "Jemma! Jemma, stop going on. I trust you are already doing all you can. We have to hope that one of the things you've tried does the trick. One of them will. My Leo's a fighter. He'll pull through."

Jemma nodded mutely. "I'm scared," she admitted, "That's why I can't stop babbling."

She said, "I know you are." But she thought,_ I'm frightened too._


	5. Chapter 5

Agent Triplett came in and found Jemma and Sharon holding hands, crying, and sharing a soaked handkerchief. He held out a package of Kleenex to Sharon, but was at a loss for how to comfort either woman. He tried to change the subject. "I put your suitcase in the guest quarters, Sharon, and I can show you to your room whenever you're ready. No rush, of course, you should speak to the doctors and all first, but I'm here when you want me." Sharon nodded, but didn't look up or stop crying.

Trip looked from one sobbing woman to another. _Where's my mother when you need her. I'm no expert on comforting crying women!_ "Um…" he started uncertainly, "Um, does anyone want a drink? Or something to eat? Jemma, you must be starving."

Sharon did look up at that statement. "She hasn't been eating?" she asked sharply.

"I'm fine, I honestly am," Jemma stammered, "I just haven't been hungry very much…"

Triplett decided now was definitely an OK time to interrupt a lady. "She's barely eaten, slept, or showered since we got to this base, Sharon. She won't leave Fitz's side and there's no food allowed in here. I had to carry her to her bed two nights ago and block the door to get her to eat a little breakfast before she rushed back here."

Years earlier, before she'd been a mum, before she had even met Leo's father, Sharon had trained as an ambulance technician. Her teacher had proposed a hypothetical situation: If you're called to a home where a teenage mother has just snapped and shaken her infant, how many patients do you have? The answer, of course, was "two," because the mother was having a behavioral emergency, even if the infant was the one with visible trauma.

_Use your head, Sharon. How many patients do you have?_ "I've heard enough. Jemma, dinner, bath, bed, this instant, no arguments."

"Sharon, there's no need—"

"Agent Triplett will help you to the kitchen, won't he? No use fainting on the way. And he's going to make sure you get some protein in you before he draws a bath, then he'll wait and help you get into bed. Isn't that right, Antoine?"

Trip didn't usually take orders from civilians, but he immediately reached for Jemma's arm to help her up. "Yes, ma'am, I'll even sit with her until she's asleep if she'll let me."

"Thank you, young man," Sharon turned her attention to Jemma, still feebly trying to protest. "Now, do be sensible, dearie. You're no good to Leo if you make yourself sick and get banned from the ward, are you? If you get a nice meal and a hot bath and some sleep, you'll be thinking much more clearly."

Jemma started to say, "But I have to be here when he wakes up!"

Sharon cut her off, **"I'm** here, Jemma! His own mother isn't going to watch him any less carefully than you would do! Go with Antoine, let him take care of you. I promise we'll wake you if any of these monitors so much as beeps out of tune!"

Jemma looked like she wanted to say more, but the fight had clearly left her. Antoine winked and mouthed "thank you" to Sharon as he half-led, half-carried her from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Sharon dabbed at her eyes with Triplett's tissues as her gaze returned to her son's face. "I guess it's just the two of us now, Leo," she whispered. _Some people who wake up swear they could hear their mothers talking._ "That's all right, though, that's how it always was, wasn't it? Just you and me. Thick as thieves." _But what do you say at a moment like this?_ "If we were believers, I'd probably want to pray over you right now." _But we're not_. "I suppose I'll just try to make some small talk, then? Is that all right, baby?"

He didn't answer. Of course not.

Sharon instinctively reached to tuck the blankets around him more securely before continuing. "I've been at my share of bedsides, you know. I can tell your vital signs look all right. I imagine that's what all these tubes are in you for. I hope they're not too uncomfortable?"

Silence. Of course.

"You've missed some of the news from back home, with all your gallivanting. Jenny from next door is in the family way, due in the fall. And your old school friend John Worth is engaged…"

After about 10 minutes of one-sided gossip, Leo's neuropsychologist came in. His surname sounded like far too many syllables to Sharon's jetlagged ears, so they settled on his given name of "Chris." Chris was working hard to be kind under the circumstances, Sharon thought. Frustration still set in when she realized that he wouldn't give her any guarantees. Still, he explained the case, and he laid out some of the steps that had been taken and the treatment plans he had in mind, like any good doctor faced with a frantic mother and a seriously ill son. When she asked for the odds, he retreated to vagaries. "Impossible to say" and "every case is different" and "we're doing all we can" all put in appearances.

_Just tell me he's going to be all right. Just give me some hope_. That was all she could think while he was in the room.

When he left, though, she forced herself to admit that what she really wanted to hear was,_ please tell me that a secret underground base in a developing nation, sponsored by a nonexistent agency that's been labeled a terrorist organization, is a sound medical environment._

That, of course, would be too much to hope for.

Agent Triplett came back after about an hour. "Jemma is sound asleep," he reported, "I can't thank you enough. I've been trying to convince her for days to try to get her mind off of things." He smiled and added, "You'll have to teach me whatever it is you did to get through to her!"

Sharon didn't have to force the smile that came to her face. She squashed it, though—_How can I smile with my Leo lying here in this state?_ "I'm afraid that's just a trick of the trade. I'm a social worker and a grief counselor, you see."

"Oh." She saw Triplett grow uncomfortable as he realized the unspoken question—_do we need grief counselors for Fitz already?_

_How many patients . . . _"Have a seat, Antoine, you've earned that much." He sat, but was plainly not at ease. He leaned forward as if he might jump up and dash off at any moment. Sharon's trained eyes also noticed that he couldn't look at the man in the bed for very long. _How many patients indeed._ "You've not been in many hospitals, have you?"

He shrugged. "I've seen my share, but I'm not usually standing vigil when a person is dy—I mean, is this sick."

The slipup stung but Sharon pushed through it. "Are you and Leo close?"

"Not really. I actually had only worked one joint mission with his team before things fell apart. But I found out that my superior officer was Hydra, and in the scramble to go underground I kinda just…fell in with Coulson's crew." He paused. "Actually, I'm not certain your son liked my being there, very much."

"Now I find that hard to believe," Sharon said, "Leo's always got on with everyone he met!"

Triplett shrugged. "What can I say, we just didn't hit it off. I'm not sure if it was the stress of the takeover, or if I did something wrong, or if it was about—well, maybe we just weren't destined to be best friends." He hesitated, but continued: "I'm not sure whether I was stepping on his toes, so to speak."

Sharon absorbed that thought for a moment. _Leo always had a competitive streak_, she had to admit, _probably had something to do with how much he accomplished so young._ "Were you rivals professionally? I would have thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists and field operatives were, well, out of each other's way."

"Oh, we are. This wasn't about work."

"Then what was it—oh." It all clicked. _Coming to check on us. Knowing when she last ate. Sitting until she fell asleep._ "Jemma?" she asked, waiting for confirmation.

Triplett gave a slightly sheepish smile and nodded. "Yes, Jemma. We hit it off as soon as we met. I didn't realize she and Fitz had something going on until—well, until I saw her at his bedside. If one of them had said something, I would've stepped more carefully."

_Crazy, mixed-up kids, the lot of them._ _Should I even try . . .? Not my business, but, well, a mother's intuition . . . oh, hang it all._ "If it makes you feel any better," she said slowly, choosing her words with great care, "I'm not certain either of them knew there was something to say."

That got his attention. "Really?" he asked, sitting up straighter and smiling hopefully.

"Indeed."

Triplett suddenly remembered where he was, glancing at Leo. The hiss of the breathing machine was the only sound for a few moments, but finally he said, "I appreciate that this may not be the right moment for that conversation, Sharon. But I'm in the dark on this. Jemma's in no mood to discuss it."

Sharon's eyes stung again at the fresh reminder of their surroundings, of the circumstances. It wasn't as if she could've forgotten about her son, but for a moment the subject had seemed so . . . _ordinary_, so much like a chat two new acquaintances might have over tea or while attending a dull party. It had been a brief respite, and now the wound was opened again.

"It's all right," she said, "I don't mind a moment's distraction. I'll even tell you the whole story someday. In fact, I—I want to ask a favor of you, Antoine."

Triplett smiled. "Name it, Sharon, I want to help."

_How many patients._ "I'm a counselor. I help other people through difficulties. It's what I do. But now I'm a frantic mother at her son's bedside, and I'll run myself ragged if I don't have a care. Will you look out for me, like you've been looking after Jemma? Point out times when I haven't slept or I've forgotten a meal. I've seen far too many loved ones make themselves ill with worry. It's only human, yet it doesn't help anyone in the slightest. And I know we've only just met but I don't know a soul in this place except Jemma and, well, you've seen why she's in no condition to help me." Sharon finally managed to stop babbling and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Absolutely, Sharon," Triplett replied. "I can't promise to be your babysitter all day long, but I'll do what I can. You have my word."

"You're a good man, Antoine," was Sharon's only reply.

"In fact," Triplett began as he got to his feet, "let me be the first to point out that you've just had a long trip, and should probably at least have a snack and a nap before the jetlag catches up. It's almost ten o'clock in this time zone, and I don't think you've had dinner yet."

Sharon started and looked at her watch. The pilot had announced the local time when she landed in San Diego, but she hadn't realized how quickly time was flying after she got to the base. "My goodness, you're absolutely right. I shouldn't have promised Jemma I'd sit here until she got back."

"If you're worried about leaving Fitz alone, I can sit with him for an hour or two longer, and our friend Skye will probably come in later. She's working on a major project right now."

_I picked the right babysitter. _Sharon had to admit that sleep sounded nice. "That seems fair. Give me one moment, though." She looked longingly at her Leo, then stood and bent to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Mommy loves you, honey. I'll be back soon," she murmured, before following Triplett towards the kitchens.


	7. Chapter 7

Sharon woke to find that ten hours had passed. _Forgive yourself, you're only human, let it go_, she mentally chanted as she hurriedly washed and dressed herself.

The sickroom was largely unchanged from the day before: bed, Leo, machines, chair, Jemma. But, she was happy to note, Jemma looked much stronger and was reading aloud from a tablet. "Madame de Chevreuse, whose name appears so often in our story "The Three Musketeers" without her actually having appeared in any scene, was still a beautiful—oh, hello, Sharon." Jemma actually smiled, to Sharon's happy surprise. "Triplett told me you'd gone to sleep, yourself. It's good you made me get some rest, I feel better."

Sharon could hear the force behind the cheer, but decided to let it pass. _My voice probably sounds the same way_. "I'm glad, Jemma. When he wakes up, Leo will want to see we stayed strong." She went and kissed her son. "Good morning, Leo, did you miss me?"

"I've been reading to him," Jemma explained, "There's some evidence coma patients may benefit from hearing familiar voices."

Sharon took the seat next to Jemma. "I heard. _Twenty Years After, _was it?"

Jemma smiled again, "You remember it?"

Sharon couldn't help but chuckle. "Of course I do! Who do you think read the entire series to him when he was small? Dumas is an old favorite of mine. I made sure to share that with my little boy."

"He never told me that," Jemma said, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. "When I asked why this was his favorite, he told me it was because of the completely implausible plot twists that lead to Raoul's birth."

"When he first heard them, they reminded him of something out of an advanced physics textbook," Sharon remembered, "He joked that string theory would be easier to explain. Other European authors of the time period used similar gimmicks to engineer coincidences in their stories, but I guess Dumas was the first exposure he had to that kind of thing. He's never been one for literature, our Leo."

"No. He hasn't." Jemma's eyes glistened as she looked down at Fitz's hand, lying next to hers on top of the blankets.

In the silence, Sharon heard the little _sss—whoo_ of the breathing machines and thought of the two-year-old Leo with his model trains, puffing _choo-choo_ as he drove all over the flat. He'd spend entire days assembling tracks and wiring up the controls, even laying out small roads and model stations so the wooden people could get on the trains. She'd known he'd grow up to be an engineer when she found him on the kitchen floor with the control box neatly disassembled around him, "Tryin' t'make it go _faster_, Mommy." She realized she was sobbing again when Jemma turned and reached out for her hand.

Struggling not to break down herself, Jemma searched for something comforting to say. "Listen, maybe you should read this scene to him. That way he can hear his mother's voice. That might help, right?" _It will, it has to, he has to wake up_, was what she didn't say.

Sharon was crying too hard to respond. Jemma pushed the Kindle into her hands. "We've just come up to his favorite scene. Please, Sharon, try to let him hear you. Leo needs his mother."

After an eternity of choked sobbing, Sharon slowly nodded and blinked at the screen. "Madame de Chevreuse, whose name appears so often . . ." she began, voice cracking. _Be brave. He needs to hear you._

Jemma sat back in her chair and settled in to listen to the story of the Vicomte de Bragelonne. She could still remember the day, back at the academy, when she'd referred to a plot point on Doctor Who as "improbable." Fitz had responded, "Aye, but not as improbable as Aramis's cross-dressing ex-girlfriend accidentally seducing Athos while thinking he's a priest, only to have him recognize D'Artagnan's cross-dressing ex-girlfriend and subsequently find an excuse to 'adopt' his own child!"

She blinked back tears at the memory. _Oh, Leo. Let me hear you geek out again, just once._

* * *

_**Twenty Years**** After **_**is the first of several sequels to Alexandre Dumas's _The Three Musketeers._ I am not making up or exaggerating the plot point referenced: the Raoul, the Vicomte de Bragelonne, really is the product of a hookup based on mutual mistaken identity between Athos and Aramis' ex-girlfriend, Madame de Chevreuse.**

**Hope you enjoy the way the story is going so far. I'm aiming for something of a character study on how people deal with catastrophes like this one. Let me know in the reviews whether you think I'm succeeding.**


	8. Chapter 8

Days passed and Sharon's life at the Playground settled into a frighteningly dull routine. She came to know most of the base personnel by sight and was granted conditional access to the kitchens and common areas, as well as the Wi-Fi. Leo's teammates took turns sitting with her. She and Jemma read the entire Musketeers series out loud. Dr. Chris tried out various drug therapies. Leo wasted away slowly.

Sharon did her best to stay optimistic, but privately her hopes were fading. Hour after hour, the machines went _sss-whoo_ and _beep_ and _drip_. No change. No progress. _It's enough to drive one mad._

By her fifth day there (Leo's eighth day comatose), she felt she had cried herself out. She had read every scrap of research she could lay her hands on. Most of it went far over her head, so she had to rely on Jemma's summaries. It all amounted to "Give various drugs, give IV food, give oxygen, then wait and see." Although she was not religious, she found herself saying little prayers. _Let him open his eyes, and that will be enough. Let me see them, and I'll have hope. Give me some sign he can still hear me, and that will sustain me another week._ All went unanswered. Or maybe the answer was "no." It made no difference. Leo and his mother were both stuck in limbo.

Jemma had tried to return to work—S.H.I.E.L.D. needed her, after all—but was still nearly glued to her best friend's bedside. She and Sharon had spent quite a bit of time together. Out of habit, Sharon had tried to start helping her through the painful transition from denial to anger, bargaining, and despair. _Not really stages, just ingredients in the same stew of grief_, she had explained to her son's best friend.

But it was a transition she wasn't ready to start herself, no matter how hopeless things might seem. _My Leo is __**not**__ dead_._ He's not going to die. He's young, he has his whole life ahead of him. I __**won't **__start to grieve before his time._

That morning, she heard familiar voices in the hallway. "Wait here, please," she heard Director Coulson say, just before he walked into the room. "Ms. Fitz—" he began.

"Sharon," she corrected.

"Sharon," he began again, "How are you doing?"

"As well as can be expected," she said. "I'm a bit exhausted. The worry wears me out. But I'm sure you know that a mother never truly stops worrying."

He smiled and sat down. "I know **mine **never did. From the moment I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. until the day she died, she called me every day to see if I was ok."

"How long ago did she pass on?"

"Five years. Cancer took her fairly young."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. Fortunately, I've had some time to adjust." His smile faded. "Listen, I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but we lost our personnel records in the takeover, so you're our only resource . . . does Leo have a living will, or did he ever make his wishes known about living in a coma?"

Sharon couldn't believe her ears. "A living will? I think it's a bit premature to discuss that!"

Coulson had the decency to look uncomfortable. "It's been over a week, Ms. Fitz. I think we need to be prepared for the possibility that Leo may not wake up."

"Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!" It came out as a shout, though Sharon hadn't meant to raise her voice at all. For a time she couldn't speak and stared at her lap, struggling to blink back tears. _You've cried enough_. _Calm down. Be rational._ Coulson seemed to have nothing to say in response. "No," she finally answered, "he's never said anything about a living will. But I will never let you turn off these machines. Not while I have my strength."

Dr. Chris chose that moment to walk in and ask, "How's the patient today?"

Later, Sharon would reassure herself that if he had come in during any other conversation, she might not have lost her head.

"How do you think he is?" she snapped. "He's in a coma. And he might stay there until kingdom come, for all you care."

To his credit, Dr. Chris was a professional. "I'm doing all I can for your son, Ms. Fitz. I know the situation is very frustrating, but—"

Sharon wasn't done, though. "Yes, I'm sure you're doing all YOU can. What a help that is right now. The efforts of a single doctor administered in a poor excuse for a hospital room must be doing so very much for my son's health."

"Sharon, calm down," Coulson said.

"I will NOT calm down!" She was on her feet now, and found herself getting closer to Coulson with every word. "You dragged my son around the world for months, put his life in danger, deleted his identity, got him drowned, tried to nurse him in a makeshift hospital, and now you want to kill him! HOW DARE YOU!" They were only inches apart, now.

Before Sharon realized what she was doing, she hauled off and slapped Acting Director Phil Coulson across the face, then stepped back and stared down at her hand in shock.

In a matter of seconds, Agent May was between Sharon and Phil while Agent Triplett pinned Sharon's arms down from behind. A thought broke through the shock—_He kept them waiting outside._

"Please record the wishes of the next of kin on his chart," she heard Coulson say to Dr. Chris. "Life support to continue for the time being. Trip, get her out of here." _He's calm. He expected this._

"Yes, sir," Trip scooped Sharon up. She didn't resist or protest. She couldn't even think of anything to say. "I don't think we'll need a sedative, Dr. Chris, thanks anyway."

As Trip carried her towards her room, Sharon realized he was whispering "It's all right, it's all right" to her. _No it's not_, she wanted to shout, but found herself voiceless.

* * *

**A/N: I took a while rewriting this chapter in the hopes it won't come off as totally out of character. The fact is, anger is a major part of how loved ones deal with illness. That's why medical professionals are trained to expect hostility from the people they're trying to help, especially if the patient's prospects are dim. As a former EMT I can tell you that family members can get completely in the way because they're panicking. So, let me know in the reviews whether that all came through in the text (but please be kind; I've never written an OC before).**


	9. Chapter 9

**My goodness, time flies when you're recovering from surgery. Hard to believe season 2 is about to make this story AU, tomorrow! I still have about two chapters in mind, so they will arrive at some point. I hope this story has helped bridge the hiatus a bit. Enjoy chapter 9!**

* * *

A blanket around her shoulders. A cup of tea pressed into her hands. A tissue box on the side table. Slowly, Sharon's state of shock began to lessen.

"Oh my God, I slapped Director Coulson," was the first thing she could say.

"Yes, yes you did," Triplett answered.

"Why did I do that?" Her hand was red and still stinging. _His face must hurt like hell_.

Triplett took a sip of his own tea. "You're the therapist, Sharon, you tell me."

"I don't go around slapping people! That's not at all like me. I must have gone mad." She sipped her own tea reflexively.

"I think 'mad' is a good choice of words, there. You got angry, lost your temper. Don't worry about it, Coulson expected this."

It took longer than it should have to connect the dots. "He's been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent a long time, hasn't he?"

Trip smiled, "If you can call thirty years a long time."

"So Leo isn't the first agent he's seen get hurt." Sharon suddenly realized her hands were shaking. She gripped the teacup more tightly to steady herself. "I'm not the first mother he's had to ask about living wills."

"He hasn't mentioned any specific incidents, but he definitely knows his way around a hospital room. Before you got here he was peppering Jemma with medical questions, moving heaven and earth to find specialists. He must've stood his fair share of vigils," Trip said, "And, I know you may have a hard time remembering this right now, but he definitely cares about Fitz. He threatened the agent responsible for this with some very creative forms of punishment."

Sharon took a long swallow of tea while she absorbed that information. _If I ever get my hands on the son of a bitch who did this, those won't be threats ._ . . _Coulson was just doing his job, asking. I should understand that better than anyone._ "I'll apologize to the director, when I've collected myself. None of this is his fault. And I didn't mean to slap him. It's just . . . well, Leo is the only family I have left. I can't bear to let him go if there's even a tiny bit of hope."

Trip laid a hand on her arm. "I can't imagine _my_ mother would respond any differently if it were me in that room, and I'm not even her favorite son!"

There was, Sharon reflected, a lot to be said for having someone who could make you smile during the worst week of your life.

For the next hour, Triplett kept Sharon distracted with anecdotes, jokes, and cups of tea while he fixed lunch. Several times Sharon tried to apologize for keeping him from his work, eventually forcing him to admit that Coulson had ordered him to look out for her today.

Over grilled cheese sandwiches, he finally asked the question he'd been pondering since Sharon arrived at the Playground. "Sharon, I know you said Fitz—I mean Leo—is your only family. But does he have anyone else we should call? Maybe someone from his father's side . . .?"

_It was bound to be asked eventually._ "No, there's really no one. He was close to my parents when they were alive, but they both passed away years ago. I'm an only child. And as for his father, well, Leo met him once." Another bite of the sandwich. "It didn't go well."

She looked up and discovered Triplett was suddenly very interested in the pattern of crumbs on his plate. That brought a smile to her face. _First I'm crying, then I'm shouting, now I'm hysterically amused by everything._ She thought back to all the families she'd counseled through vigils, remembering how eventually they became desperate to laugh._ I'm right on schedule, really._ "You can ask, you know, if you're curious," she said, "I'm not shy."

Was that a blush accompanying that nervous smile? Goodness, S.H.I.E.L.D. should teach its agents more control. "I don't want to pry, if it's not my business," Triplett explained.

Sharon shrugged. "Leo is twenty-seven years old. I've been fielding the same question for three decades. I'm not bitter about anything." _And I have had plenty of recitations of the same answer._

"I went to university in America. I had a brief fling with a master's candidate, a TA for one of my chemistry classes. No grand love story. He very vehemently did not want a baby, but I wanted to keep it, so we split up. I moved back home to my parents so they could help with Leo while I finished my degree. My ex never asked for custody and I never asked for money. We just went our separate ways.

"Then about ten years ago, when Leo had made a name for himself as a child prodigy and was already working on a master's degree, we got an email out of the blue. He'd tracked us down through Leo's university. He was coming to Scotland for some conference or other and wanted to meet his son. Leo was a bit curious about his long-lost father, so we all went out for supper together. In the middle of a very awkward introduction, he said 'If I'd known you were going to be a whiz kid, I would've stayed in your life.'"

Triplett's eyes widened. "He really said it exactly like that?"

Sharon smiled wider and nodded. "He really did! I've been wondering ever since what I ever saw in him!"

"So what did you do?"

"_I_ didn't do anything. Before I could say a word, Leo let him have it. Called him a 'shameless deadbeat' and a 'cad' and a variety of other colorful things. Told him off for 'taking advantage of a younger woman' and 'refusing responsibilities' before finishing off with 'you might've saved yourself a trip to Scotland because neither of us will have anything to do with you after all this time.' Then he jumped up and stormed out of the restaurant."

Triplett actually laughed. "So what happened then? Did you follow him?"

Sharon shook her head. "Not right away. I took the opportunity to clarify a few things. He as much as admitted that he was only interested in meeting Leo because he wanted to take some credit for such an exceptional child. I told him that he should've taken some modicum of responsibility if he wanted any credit. 'You didn't take advantage of me eighteen years ago,' I said, 'but you have tried to take advantage of my son tonight. You had better not trouble us again unless you've come to apologize.'

She shrugged. "We haven't heard from him since, so I guess he's still thinking it over!"

Triplett started to laugh again. "It sounds like you sure told him!" Then he suddenly sobered, remembering how this conversation had begun. "All right, so we won't call him. Is there anyone else Leo would want to see?"

"No," Sharon said, "Besides Jemma, he doesn't have many close friends."

"Is that what they are?" Triplett didn't bother to hide his curiosity. "Close friends?"

_Right, we never got back to that topic._ "Sometimes, I'm not entirely sure myself," she said, "and I don't want to talk out of turn."

"Oh," was all he said, but his disappointment was obvious. "Sorry for asking, but I'm pretty confused and Jemma just won't talk about it at all. Anytime I try to ask her what she and Fitz were, she either snaps 'best friends' or scolds me for using the past tense. But she's stopped flirting with me since the incident. I think something must have happened in that pod." Pause. "Other than the obvious 'nearly drowning' part."

_After all he's done, he deserves some hope. _"Well, since you're such a nice man and I can tell you've got more than a sporting interest in the answer, I'll let you know if I find out."

That got a smile. "Thank you, Sharon."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello readers! Welcome to [what I think will be] the third-to-last chapter in this story. I'm trying to keep things canon compliant, which means I have to wrap up at some point before the season 2 premiere. So this is nearly over and you will indeed see home and family again. Happy reading :-)**

* * *

As she walked back to her son's room that evening, Sharon heard Jemma's voice, reading aloud again. "Go, then, Raoul, go and get yourself disposed of, if you like. I hardly know who can have taught you logic, but deuce take me if your father has not been regularly robbed of his money."

"Evening, Jemma," Sharon said, sitting across from her and reaching out to squeeze Leo's hand.

"Hello Sharon. I heard there was some excitement in here earlier." Jemma attempted a lighthearted tone, but was plainly on the verge of tears.

"Oh, you could call it excitement," Sharon said with a slight twinge of embarrassment. "I overreacted, really. Coulson was just doing his job. He asked about living wills and I lost my head."

Jemma could make no answer. Her eyes stung at the thought of a living will.

_Time to change the subject._ "Listen, Jemma, this might not be my business, but I had a question about what happened in that medical pod." _In for a penny now. _"You said Leo insisted you take the last puff of oxygen. But I know you and I know how much you care about him, and I know you wouldn't have taken that breath without at least a word of protest. So my question is: what did he say? What did my son do to get you to agree?"

Jemma did start crying, then. Sharon regretted asking the question almost immediately. _But words don't fly out of your mouth attached to strings. Can't take it back._ She handed over the box of tissues, realizing that it was the fifth one they'd gone through that week.

"Please, you have to believe me, I begged him not to make me take it!" Jemma sobbed. "I said 'You're my best friend in the world, don't make me leave you.'"

"I believe you, Jemma Simmons, I absolutely do," Sharon quickly clarified, "This isn't your fault. Just tell me what he said."

Jemma looked away. "'You're more than that Jemma,'" she mumbled.

_Did I hear that correctly? _"More than what?"

Jemma gripped the arms of her chair as if to steady herself. With her eyes firmly fixed on the floor tiles, she whispered, "He said I was more than his best friend. He was telling me that he loved me."

_My boy is always so stubborn. Of course he'd wait until he's literally dying to announce the obvious. The man pursues degrees in every field that crosses his mind but he can't speak up in front of a beautiful woman._ "Well, I can't say I'm exactly surprised."

Jemma's eyes snapped back to Sharon's. "You aren't?" she spluttered.

_Blind as bats, the pair of them. _As gently as she could, Sharon said, "You're a grown woman, Jemma, and an attractive one. You must be used to men showing you attention. Didn't you ever suspect that our Leo might want to be more than just friends?"

Jemma quickly ran through a few memories in her head. "I . . . suppose it's possible, in hindsight. He was always there for me, and he could be rather protective. But he never exactly flirted. There were little things. Never thinking a man was good enough for me, always texting to make sure I would get home all right after a night on the town, always insisting on walking me home if we ended up in a shady neighborhood. I just figured he was your typical male friend. He picked up other girls . . ." Suddenly remembering her audience, she quickly added, "Not many, of course, but he did go on his share of dates."

Sharon smiled at Jemma's embarrassment. _We're all adults._ "I suppose a person can miss these things, especially if my son waits until the last possible moment to state his case. Maybe it's better late than never. What did you say back?"

"I'm not sure I said anything," Jemma explained, "He blew the window of the pod in before I had a chance to process what he was saying. I've been waiting at his bedside for another chance to give him my answer."

"And what answer is that?" Sharon asked boldly, now determined to get the whole story.

Jemma hesitated. "I'm not sure. He's my best friend and I love him dearly, but I'm not sure romance is the right thing for us."

"Did he . . . did you . . . I mean, was there ever any . . . romance between you two?" Sharon asked. "With all those years of friendship, working in tandem, spending holidays together, late nights at the lab, I thought you two might have been up to more than just chatting. Especially since I could tell he was falling for you."

"You could?" Jemma asked. "How could you have done? _I _couldn't tell!"

Sharon shrugged. _How can I explain intuition?_ "A good mother knows these things about her son. The two of you have been thick as thieves since university, but he did have a life before you. There were other girls he pined for. I picked up on the signs as soon as he introduced us."

She could tell by the look on Jemma's face that she was remembering the occasion. They'd taken a week's holiday and done some sight-seeing in Scotland. Leo was so shocked that Jemma had never been north that he practically dragged her from place to place, eventually ending up sleeping at his mother's house after their rented car broke down under the strain. _Yes, Jemma, it __was__ three or four years ago. He's loved you that long. I've known it that long. You're a blind genius._

"How could I have missed this?" Jemma asked.

"I'm not sure. Was there ever any romance between you two?" Sharon repeated.

Jemma wasn't looking at Sharon anymore, or at the floor. Now, she was staring at Leo. "We kissed under mistletoe at a Christmas party, once. And then there was—"

She didn't get a chance to say what there had been. She was interrupted by a loud alarm from one of the machines. When Sharon looked around for the source of the sound, she saw something that made her forget all about questions.

Her son's eyes were open.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello faithful readers! As you've probably guessed, the first three episodes of the new season have more or less turned parts of this into mild AU. But any fan work involving a work in progress becomes AU, sooner or later. It's quite literally an ancient tradition.**

**Some things are happening in real life for me, so the last few chapters are going to be slow. I'm sure you'll bear with me since no one on this site is a full-time author, but this is a friendly heads-up. :-)**

* * *

"Leo? Leo? Can you hear me? It's Mom!" Sharon cried, moving into his line of sight. Jemma ran into the hall, shouting for Dr. Chris, while Sharon squeezed Leo's hand. Her son was making choking sounds and looking around, confused. "Shh, darling, don't try to talk. There's a tube down your throat. You've had an accident, but you're safe." His eyes focused on his mother, and suddenly he looked terrified. He gripped her hand like it was a life preserver and started trying to move his head. _What's he looking for?_ Sharon thought, but then she realized.

"Jemma! Come here quickly. Let Leo see that you're all right." Jemma came running and reached for his other hand, smiling down at him.

"Fitz, I'm all right. We're all right. We're at a S.H.I.E.L.D. base. You've given us such a scare . . ."

Dr. Chris was there, then, and so were the nurses. Checking vital signs, shining lights in Leo's eyes, trying to get him to focus on their fingers.

After two minutes, the excitement was over. Leo closed his eyes again and the machines stopped their racket. Sharon felt her hopes, which had ballooned up at the first sign of consciousness, plummet once more.

"What happened? What's wrong?" she demanded.

Dr. Chris explained. "Coma patients can have momentary returns to consciousness several times before they truly 'wake up,' Sharon. This was one of those. It's actually a very good sign that your son's brain may be recovering. In fact, I'm going to start doing some tests to see whether he might be able to breathe on his own."

There was only one word that mattered: recovering. _He's going to live._


	12. Chapter 12

**Here it is, the penultimate chapter! This has taken longer than expected, but I can promise that it is definitely going to be completed. I got in a car accident this week, which is going to extend my surgical recovery time, so the bright side is that I may well be spending more time typing up the fics that pop into my head. Thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed this story and myself as an author. Enjoy!**

* * *

Buoyed by hope, Sharon practically floated to the kitchens that afternoon. Her mind was racing ahead of itself as she fixed a cup of tea and heated up some leftovers for her lunch. _He recognized us, that's a good sign for cognitive abilities. Still a lot to learn. Physical therapy's a given, might need speech and occupational as well. I probably can't stay for most of it, I'll have to get back to work once he's out of danger._

Then, the penny dropped: _when will I even get to see him from now on?_Taking her plate out of the microwave, she reminded herself: _worry about one thing at a time. We don't have the energy for more._

Footsteps in the corridor broke her reverie. "Sharon!" Trip's smile came into view. "I just heard the good news! I'm so happy for you."

She hugged him. "There's nothing certain yet. But it's good news, all the same."

"I know no one can wait to have him back in the lab. We've recruited a new engineer, but there's no one quite like Fitz. I just hope his mind recovers well enough to help us out." Suddenly Trip looked uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?"

Trip clearly wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I…that came out wrong. Obviously Fitz's recovery is more important than how much use he is to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I'm not offended," Sharon said reassuringly. "I know that if he's well enough, he'll want to keep working for S.H.I.E.L.D. He's always been very proud of his work."

Trip smiled but still seemed to think he'd put his foot in it.

_Time to change the subject. Again. This is a big day for changing topics mid-conversation._ "By the way, Jemma and I had a little chat before Leo opened his eyes. Of course I can't indulge in too much gossip, but there are two facts I think you'd be interested in knowing."

"All right," Trip said, "I'm listening."

Sharon leaned back in her chair and slipped into her best _marginally-older-and-wiser-woman_ tone. "Fact one: my son has had a crush on Jemma for a very long time. Maybe as long as they've known each other, and that's nearly half their lives. But they've never been an 'item.'"

She watched Trip's face carefully as he absorbed the news, but still couldn't tell if he was excited or frustrated by that information.

"Fact two: you should not take that as a reason not to pursue her." _Now he just looks confused. Confused about the rules of relationships, at his age?_ "Because it's up to her to decide how she feels about Leo, and how she feels about you. She's not spoken for, at present," Sharon clarified.

"Oh," was all Trip managed in response, at first. For a long moment, he just sat there looking thoughtful. "Well . . . thanks for the advice, Sharon," he finally added.

"Oh, anytime. I'm the mother of a grown son and a counselor. Advice is my specialty." They shared a smile, and the conversation turned to other matters.


	13. Chapter 13

**This one was longer than expected, folks, so there will in fact be one more "epilogue" chapter. I felt I should do a better job than TV shows usually do explaining the logistics of keeping an organization secret. Enjoy!**

* * *

Leo continued to open his eyes sporadically, but it was three more days before he was able to stay conscious for more than five minutes. Sharon and Jemma were both with him for most of that time, in much better spirits now that they had reason to hope.

Finally, on the eleventh day since his drowning, Leo Fitz was alert for a full 10 minutes. He even managed to speak. "J-Jemma," he croaked. "Mom? W-where . . . are . . . we?" And thus, the slow, painful process of his rehabilitation began.

Two weeks after her arrival at the Playground, Sharon was finally satisfied that her son was out of danger—at least, out of mortal danger. The aphasia, the tremors, the confusion, and the unsteady gait all spoke to the difficulties ahead. _Still,_ she thought, _At least he's alive. He has a chance. It's up to him to make something of it._

As she watched him struggle through his first physical therapy sessions, his mother turned her attention to how to get him the best care. Back home with her the treatments would be free, but as a fugitive wanted by both the authorities and Hydra, she knew that wasn't an option. _This is why they call what happened to S.H.I.E.L.D. a "fall." He—they—__we__ can never go back, any more than a man can fly back onto a cliff._

He could start over somewhere no one knew him, with a new name and a faked backstory. But that would mean starting over with no support at all. _Out of the question._

By the time Sharon's work leave began to run low and she announced her attention to return home, there was no doubt in her mind: her son had to remain with S.H.I.E.L.D., for better or worse. So, that's what she told Director Coulson when they met in his office to discuss the cover story she should use when she returned to her (allegedly) normal life.

"Thank you for understanding," he replied, "I hoped we wouldn't have an argument about this. For now, Fitz needs S.H.I.E.L.D. and we need him." He took a deep breath before continuing: "Unfortunately, the situation is rather dangerous, and I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to do more than just leave without him."

_That sounds ominous._ "I don't mind leaving him in your capable hands," she said slowly, "But I'm not going to cut all ties, no matter who thinks my son is a terrorist. I'm going to want to see him again, talk to him, be a part of his life."

Director Coulson gave her a knowing smile. "Did you really think we'd ask you to do that? Of course you're going to have to maintain contact with your son. I have Agent Skye arranging a secure line so you can talk anytime you want. She'll explain the technical details once we're done here.

"But this situation has led to my sharing information with you that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. You know what country S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in. You know how large the base is and, broadly speaking, what our capabilities are. And a clever man could still connect you to S.H.I.E.L.D. Skye erased all online records of Leo Fitz, but she can't erase the physical birth certificates and school records back in Scotland, or other people's memories, for that matter. We've been informed that the people pursuing us were able to salvage some personnel lists from what Black Widow posted online last month, so I have to assume that when you reappear in Scotland after 'visiting your sick son,' the authorities are going to have some questions for you."

Sharon breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's easily handled. I'll just tell them the truth."

"And what's that?"

"An agent met me at the airport. He blindfolded me and then we drove. I'm not sure how long we were in the car because I fell asleep. I think we may have headed north because I felt the sun warming my right side. But I can't tell you what turns we may have made. When we got out of the car, I was led indoors still blindfolded. For security reasons I was never allowed outside, and we kept the blinds down in all the windows. From the size and style of the rooms it seems like some old office complex. S.H.I.E.L.D. medics were tending to my son in a makeshift hospital room. As soon as he was out of danger, I was blindfolded, sedated, and dropped off at the airport in time for my return flight."

Director Coulson looked surprised. _Didn't expect it of me, did you?_ Sharon thought with a certain sense of pride. _Yes, I can sell a lie when I have to. I've done it before._

The director cleared his throat. "You're a cool liar, Sharon. I'll have to ask you to review that story with my security experts, of course. We may need to provide a way to verify one or two details, maybe add some flourishes for authenticity. But the basics should work very well."

Sharon nodded her understanding. The director added, "But there is one aspect of the story we're going to have to change. Your son isn't out of danger. He died."

Sharon stared at Coulson in shock. "What? Why?"

Coulson sighed. "It's the only way to guarantee that Hydra and the authorities will stop chasing him. We can't convince the world he never existed. But we can convince them he's gone forever."

Sharon felt her eyes fill up with tears. "There will be questions. We have friends, neighbors, distant relations who were all very proud of my wunderkind. What am I supposed to tell them?"

Coulson's features were completely controlled, and she realized he'd braced himself for an unpleasant conversation. "You're going to tell them that he died after a bad car accident. We'll provide you with a death certificate and ashes in an urn. Scatter them, or put them on a mantelpiece, whichever is better for you. Hold a memorial service. If anyone presses you for details on Leo's last days, tell them it's painful to talk about. Mourn as publicly as you think you would if he were truly dead. This has to seem real, to everyone. Hydra has eyes in many places."

Sharon choked back a sob, picturing her friends' faces when she told them. "But what will happen once Hydra is destroyed? Leo has a right to live his life, even if he doesn't stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. forever. What cover story will we come up with when we bring him back to life?"

"I'm flattered by your confidence that we'll beat Hydra eventually," Coulson said wryly, "But it could take years. We're going to have to cross that bridge when we come to it, assuming we even make it that far."

_In other words, he can't come home again. _"This is too big a lie to sell!" Sharon protested. "I know you've trusted me with cover stories, but I'm hardly a brilliant actress. I can't fake mourning my son's death."

"Can't you?" Coulson asked. "Your son has been seriously damaged. He may never be the same again. You're not going to be able to be with him for his recovery. You're not going to see him in person for at least a few years. Don't you feel sad? Can't you channel that grief for the life that's gone forever, and make it seem like you're grieving a death?"

_Dammit, he's right_. "I don't want to," she said feebly.

"But will you do it, to save your son's life?" Coulson was trying not to be harsh, but failing miserably. "Because those are the stakes."

"Yes," she whispered, "Yes, I'll do it to protect him. But I won't ever like it."

Coulson sighed. "I don't like it either, Sharon. But we've all been forced into the shadows. We're all going to have to do a lot of things we don't like."

Sharon put on her bravest face and said, "Well, that's the human condition, isn't it?"

The director grimaced. "Some days I'm afraid that it is."

"Is that all?" she asked, barely even trying to hide the sarcasm.

If Coulson heard it, he chose to ignore it. "There's just one more thing, Sharon. Hydra may try to use you for information. If you see anyone following you, or notice strangers hanging around, use that secure line we talked about to call us for help. And I need you to take this and keep it in your pocket at all times," he said, holding out an American coin. "Press the hidden switch here, and it becomes a radio tuned to S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency frequencies. Just in case you can't get to that line for any reason."

_Just in case I'm kidnapped and tortured for information on the whereabouts of my undead son._

_My life is so bloody odd these days._


	14. Epilogue

**Hello faithful readers! After a summer hiatus, one surgery, one car accident, two trips to the hospital, and almost three months of writing, here I am, posting the final chapter.**

**This is really the first multi-chapter fic I've ever finished (the rest of my failed attempts are scattered on various hard drives), so, seriously thanks for sticking with it. Be sure to let me know what you think.**

* * *

Sharon Fitz collected her luggage from the carousel in Edinburgh and found a cab. The driver put her large bag in the boot, but she placed the carry-on next to her. It had been harder than she expected to carry that bag discreetly. Who knew urns could be so heavy? _But maybe it's good to give a bit of a show. Let people see me struggling to bring my son's ashes along._

She tipped the cabbie extra and he helped her get both bags indoors.

It was strange to see her same old flat, nothing out of place. It was a relief to be home, but with her life turned upside down, how could these rooms be unchanged?

_Almost unchanged. _Sharon unzipped her carry-on bag and lifted out the heavy vase. The flat didn't have a mantel, and the coffee table seemed too absurd, so she settled for the top of a bookshelf. She had to take down Leo's college diploma to make room, though, and that almost made her cry.

She tried to tell herself, _You knew he wasn't coming home with you. This is no different_. But it was different. Living far away and not visiting often was different than being dead. From now on, she wouldn't be the mother of a brilliant scientist, but the mother of a dead suspected terrorist. And her son wouldn't be a genius respected in several fields, but rather a ghost that lingered in people's minds and prayers for a time, then faded away.

_What next? Oh yes, the bugs._ In her last conversation with Leo, he had been anxiously trying to tell her something but floundering for the words. "When you're home sweep…sweep the…sweep…listening things?" he'd stomped his foot in frustration.

Sharon knew him well enough to guess, "Microphones?"

"Yes? Bad microphones. Microphones from Hydra."

"You mean sweep for bugs?"

"Yes." He'd buried his face in his hands out of frustration, and she'd patted his back reassuringly.

"Maybe you could help me figure out how to do that?" she'd suggested, and he had.

Now, she got out several nondescript electronic devices that S.H.I.E.L.D. had loaned her and began disassembling them. Triplett had offered to have the assembly instructions for an RF detector encoded and sent to her, but she'd committed them to memory instead. "Two may keep a secret if one of them is dead," she'd reminded him.

Once she'd swept all of the electronic devices in all four rooms and removed all of the switch plates to be certain, she disassembled the device and turned it back into items that no one would suspect. She wondered if anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would've guessed how easy that was for her. _Leo came to it honestly. I may not be a genius but I've never paid a repairman_.

Convinced that no one was listening, she risked a brief call on the secure line Skye had set up. It went to answer phone—no surprise, it was a huge time difference. "Hello darling, I'm safely home. Give my regards to Director Coulson and Jemma and Agent Triplett. Talk more soon. Mama loves you."

After fixing herself a small supper and unpacking her things, after forcing herself to make the painful calls to her boss, her friend Julia, her aunt, and Leo's best friend from primary school, after enduring the tearful condolences from all parties, she sat down with a cup of tea, her sewing box, and several of her most serviceable brassieres.

_What is wrong with Director Coulson, suggesting I keep a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. radio in my pocket?_ She wondered for the hundredth time as she began sewing a small square of fabric into the band of her favorite piece. _It's disguised as an American coin. It'd be the first thing Hydra suspected_._ Goodness, it's just a good job that they've got someone sensible like me to think things through for them._

Working with the needle and thread, Sharon forced herself to smile for the first time since she left the Playground. _Accept the facts,_ she insisted, _You're going to live a charade for a while. Your son is going to be in pain and living in the shadows, maybe for the rest of his life. That can't be changed. It can't be helped._

_So, reframe and give yourself reasons to hope, _she told herself_. Is it really as bad as all that? Leo's going to live. I'm going to live. S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to live and fight another day. _Yes, life was going to be harder now that she had to look over her shoulder. And it wouldn't be pleasant pretending her son was dead and buried, knowing that he was alive and struggling. But he was a genius, and he was still her precious little boy, and he'd fight Hydra till the end. _Their end, not his_.

_Now, carry _on. Knotting off the last stitch, she cut the thread and tucked the coin-radio into the makeshift secret pocket. Glancing to see if the drapes were closed, she removed her shirt and bra and slipped into the modified one. Success! She could feel the shape of the nickel pressed against her, but a peek at the mirror let her know that it would be undetectable to the naked eye. _Much safer than the pocket of my slacks. And harder to leave behind one day by mistake, too!_

She re-threaded the needle for the next piece of lingerie. In the morning she'd have to summon her strength and call Leo's father. There was a memorial service to organize. On Monday she'd have to get herself to work and guide others through crises. Leo would have months, if not years, of therapy and hard work ahead of him.

But for tonight, Leo was off saving the world—_where he belongs—_and she was home—_where I belong_.

She could live with that.


End file.
